Mirror, Mirror
by KH Rockin' Robins collabs
Summary: After a failed suicide attempt, Zexion wakes up in a city called Wonderland, very much like the world of the same name, only to find that he's, for some reason, now the leader of Organisation XIII - a mafia version of his own heart-hunting group...
1. Chapter 1

**Standard Disclaimer: **please see the profile page :)

**Note: **Everything posted on this account (this story included) will be written collaboratively by several different writers. For more information, please view our profile page. Thanks and enjoy!

**Summary: **After a failed suicide attempt, Zexion wakes up in a city called Wonderland, very much like the world of the same name, only to find that he's, for some reason, now the leader of Organisation XIII - a mafia version of his own heart-hunting group. He has no idea why, or how, and can only take each day as it comes, surrounded by fearful minions and scheming allies, eager for a throne he didn't want in the first place...

**Writer:** israelproject

**Mirror, Mirror**

Part 1

The club was dim, music playing softly in and around the patrons, a steady haze of smog drifting through the chandeliers. Walls of rich burgundy, tables of deeply polished oak, small and private, wall furnishings and rare, expensive paintings adorning the walls. Liquor flowed, lighting eyes artificially, stealing wits, though always leaving enough left over to view one's neighbour with sly suspicion. Through the broad, shimmering windows, the city of Wonderland could be seen glittering far below, its peon-like inhabitants scurrying about their mad, decaying little lives while those that ran it, controlled it, held the ability to crush it on a misplaced whim sat high, scarcely bothering to even observe.

He who held the greatest majority of the threads, who was revered, loved, feared, hated and envied, sat at the head of the longest table, in the most private section of the distinguished club, sitting as still as possible as a barmaid in a bunny outfit leaned in front of him, stretching her arm deliberately to reveal her excessively-exposed breasts. Her tall, clip-on ears narrowly avoided poking his eye. She was divided, unsure who to display her best side to – natural instinct directed her his way, but there were so many other powerful men at the table, half of which looked ready to grab her and fuck her where she stood. Zexion was sure he could understand her plight – what, oh what, was a girl to do?

"Do you – do you mind?" he muttered, as again, the felt-covered wire came dangerously close to turning him into a Xigbar look-alike. She twisted her head, blinking. On the black choker she wore around her slender throat, Zexion saw the glittering letters, A-L-I-C-E, spelled out.

"Hey, slut," a rambunctious, sneering voice called across the table. "Number One asked you a question." Larxene downed her tea, fourth cup of the evening, Zexion observed with resignation. It wouldn't be long til she started groping, men, women, anyone that came within reach of her talons. Until then, her voice would grow more and more cutting.

"I – "

Before the girl could form her response, Larxene was slurring again, "You wanna fuck him? That's what _you_ wanna ask, _right_? Youuuu wannaaaa _fuckim_." She propped an elbow on the table, black sleeve of her robe swishing through a spilled puddle of drink, chin on hand. "Baaaabe, that is the most – fucking – powerful dude in the room. In the _city_. He thinks you're _shit_. He's not lookin' at you." She leered. "Wouldn't you prefer someone more your league?"

"More tea, love?" Luxord leaned across, past Marluxia at Larxene's side, and elegantly filled her cup from a flowered teapot. Larxene grunted her assent, waving a hand to hurry him up. Alice, looking faintly panicky, took her leave, startled off like – well – a bunny. Zexion released a slight breath of relief, eyes flicking to Demyx. The blond, down towards the end of the table, between Axel and Roxas, had his eyes fixed emptily on his own cup. It was still half-filled, his first of the evening.

"What is this shit?" Larxene muttered, gulping it hot, black.

"Oh, it's superb, dear," Luxord replied. "Hand-picked Paopu leaves, steeped for three hours before serving – it'll get you smashed off your face in a single cup."

The woman threw it back in a long swallow, slammed the little teacup down on the tabletop, and bawled, "_I'm not smashed yet!_"

Zexion massaged his forehead, automatically lifted his own steaming cup to his lips and took a sip. It was so soothing, and helped his budding migraine so well… He choked suddenly, drew the drink away and clattered it to its saucer, covering his mouth with one arm. Xemnas, on his right, smirked. "Be careful with that particular blend, Superior," he cautioned. "Remember how volatile it made you last time?" He sneered across the table. "Poor Demyx was in hospital for a week."

The blond lifted his head, glared at the man, along with Roxas and Axel. Zexion said sharply, "I have no intention of that happening." Xemnas sent him a wink.

"Of course not, Superior."

Oh, how it grated Zexion to hear himself addressed as such. _Superior. Number one_. The order was all _wrong_ now – his sudden rise to power, over all of Organisation XIII and, indirectly, virtually the entire city of Wonderland, had shuffled them around, mixed them up. He could no longer trust himself to call anyone by number – especially, _especially_ not Xemnas. Instinct would have him treat the man with the same respect as he always had done – now, he had to bite it down, sometimes literally catching his tongue between his teeth. The first time he'd awoken in this hellhole of luxury, seeing Xemnas almost immediately, seated beside the bed, he'd addressed him as her normally would: "Superior? Wha – what's going on?"

The look on Xemnas' face… it had given Zexion the shivers. He'd pried his eyes open further, gathering his wits, glancing around. At first, he hadn't remembered why he was here. "Hospital? Did I – get hurt? Wait…" He'd shaken his head, frustrated. "_Hospital_? Why am I _here_? Why aren't we at Castle Oblivion?"

"…Superior _Zexion_," Xemnas had replied, that odd little flickering gleam still dancing coldly at being referred to as such, "we will return you to Oblivion as soon as possible – their tea supplies have been restocked recently, with all your favourites – but perhaps you and I should discuss what you are going to tell the rest of the Organisation?"

Zexion had blinked dully, a hand lifting to brush the lavender hair from his eyes, stopping abruptly as his gaze fell upon the tight bandaging wrapped around and around his wrists, down along his forearms. He froze with remembrance. "…Oh, shit."

"Why did you do this?" Xemnas asked curiously, eyeing him inscrutably. "I had thought you happy, Number One – if there is something bothering you so badly, why didn't you come to me? I could have helped you." He'd tucked his hands into the sleeves of his Organisation cloak. "You are at a pinnacle of power – were you really so eager to let it all go?"

Zexion had stared. "I don't – I don't understand."

Something looking like sympathy had arranged itself on Xemnas' features, utterly false. "It's alright, Superior," he'd said softly. "We will make sure you get better." He'd smiled thinly. "We'll tell the others it was – an accident, yes?"

Thinking of Demyx, what his reaction would be to all this, he'd nodded hurriedly, more than willing to agree. But – when they'd left, it hadn't been to return to Castle Oblivion at all – instead, he was introduced to a penthouse above the gentleman's club _Oblivion_, of which he was owner, apparently. The other members of the Organisation were dotted in lush pads throughout the enormous building Zexion had surmised he was also the owner of, from what people had said. Demyx, though having his own apartment, lived with Zexion, and lived in fear of him. Which all left Zexion wondering, what the _hell_ was going on?

A quiet man by nature, he hadn't leapt about proclaiming whatever truths he thought he knew – everywhere he went, everybody he spoke to, he was left with an indelible impression of being terribly omnipotent. His quick mind sorted whatever dots had been supplied, and joined them where he could, making inferences where necessary. He had gathered the following: He was the leader of Organisation XIII. However, instead of being comprised of a collection of powerful Nobodies, they were instead _humans_, with beating hearts, and no interest in trawling the world in search of spares. He was now the only one lacking, a fact which he intended to keep as silent as possible – aside from the fact that, of course, Xemnas knew. The hospital monitors had shown him as clinically dead, after all. If he had been anyone other than, apparently, the most powerful man in the city, he would have been spirited away for extensive testing.

No – instead of hearts, the Organisation now desired _souls_, it would seem. They were an elite society all of their own, aiming to own everything that _could_ be owned, control everything that _could_ be controlled – they were dangerous, they were wealthy, they were driven by who knew what anymore to be the rulers of their domain…

…Which left him sitting tiredly on an overly-comfortable chair in _Oblivion's_ exclusive club, being pandered to, simpered at, admired and detested even by those at his own table, when all he wanted was to find somewhere quiet, with a book, Lexaeus for company if he was planning on being silent, or Demyx if he subconsciously wanted distracting.

Demyx, however, was terrified of him. And who could blame him? If Xemnas' statement was to be believed, he apparently had got drunk enough off tea – _tea_ – to beat the boy into hospital. But then, he supposed wearily, thoughts bringing him back to the room, observing the proceedings with concealed distaste, tea was an intoxicant here, in this insane city of Wonderland, just like alcohol was in – wherever it was he'd come from. He'd attempted to kill himself in the bathroom of Castle Oblivion, in a fit of melancholy, unable to stand the stillness in his chest when it so badly needed to be shaken, and woken up as the leader of an Organisation more cut-throat than the one he'd been trying to escape.

_Repeat after me: killing yourself was not the answer_. Zexion rolled his eyes, sighed, pushed his tea away, wishing there was just a regular pot he could partake in. "Superior, you're looking tired," Xemnas noticed. The man was his second-in-command in this particular version of reality, or hallucination – though Zexion was sure that, if hallucinating, his mind could find something a damn sight more contenting than a life of debauchery and despicable happenings. Shortly, the lavender-haired man responded, "Yes, Xemnas, I am."

"We will adjourn, then," the man said silkily, "so that you may gain some well-earned rest."

"I think that would be best," Zexion murmured.

"Do you require your whore sent to your room, sir?"

His hand slammed the tabletop angrily. "Don't call Demyx a whore! He's _not_, so just – " He closed his eyes. Everyone was staring, Demyx caught with a deer-in-headlights look on his face. "Yes," Zexion said quietly. "Send Demyx to my room." His eyes flashed open sternly. "But treat him with respect, damn it."

"Of course," Xemnas said humbly. "My apologies, Superior. It will be done." He clapped his hands sharply. "All of you, get out. Number One is tired – this meeting is over."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Roxas growled sharply from his end of the table, already on his feet. He left quickly, stalking away. Axel followed, darting Demyx a quick glance as the blond remained sitting, a desolate cast to his posture. Zexion left through a different exit to the others, a staircase leading from the club directly up to his penthouse. Demyx would be along shortly, bearing more tea, more exotic types than the ones available to the others – Zexion had so far refrained from tasting them, their scent was overwhelming – and some food, and… other things. Things which, it seemed, his pre-hospital Superior-self enjoyed using to torment the blond. That he hadn't used them in nearly two weeks had Dem more on edge than ever – he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the gathered energy to explode onto him in a fireball. But Zexion refused – he wouldn't hurt Demyx ever again. It hadn't been him in the first place, but still he swore it – Demyx would _never_ suffer again.

As he ascended the steps, he never felt Xemnas' eyes boring into his back, hand stroking Saix's under the table, nefarious plans boiling within his skull. Demyx saw, he always did – but he was just too scared to say anything.

The leader of the Organisation went to read a book, and prepare for the day to come, wondering wearily when on earth he'd be returned back to where he belonged.


	2. Chapter 2

**Writer:** finem

**Mirror, Mirror**

Part 2

Lost in the pages of information, Zexion could almost forget that he was not in the place that he had learned to think of as home since the time when he lost his heart. Despite the fact that he was reading about a world that existed nowhere in his frame of reference; despite the fact that his living quarters were full of decadence and debauchery rather than the empty neutrality of Castle Oblivion or endless white of their base on the World that Never Was, he could almost escape what was becoming an increasingly disturbing reality. Demyx wasn't cowering quietly on the bed across the room; there was no twisted array of 'toys' set out for Zexion's 'pleasure' to use on the blond. There were only the words on the pages, the knowledge that came with reading, and the comforting feel of logic and analysis that the schemer prided himself on.

The ideas of this world were bizarre, to be sure, but he view them as he viewed information where had come from; insight, a look into the minds of the people, and a means of becoming better able to control the things around him. Lifting his Lexicon from his side, he made note of a concept known as 'Unbirthdays' that seemed to be of some import to the people of Wonderland.

It had been with no little relief that Zexion discovered that his weapon, at least, was still within his reach even if nothing else remotely familiar to him was. It gave him some sense of control over the madness around him; helped him to focus his thoughts as he tried to figure out how he would solve his current predicament.

There was a quiet creaking of springs and Zexion was aware that Demyx was shifting from the bed. He paid the blond no attention. He wasn't sure what Demyx was expecting of him, but Zexion figured that it would be best to give the blond his space for now. It definitely seemed like something that was sorely needed.

"Shall I refill your tea, Superior?"

The submissive tone in the other's musical voice sent Zexion's nerves on end. This was so contrary to the goofy, carefree satirist he was accustomed to.

"No, thank you, Demyx," he replied without taking his eyes from his reading. He couldn't be bothered with trying to figure out what to do with the blond at the moment.

As a Nobody, he couldn't really feel anxiety or panic, but he had the distinct impression that if he had a heart, those emotions would be fairly accurate for the situation. He was in a position of power, and where there was power, there would always be those who sought after it. Eventually, someone would piece things together and figure out that Zexion was not the same man that they all thought he was. When that happened, his life would be forfeit.

However, considering that Zexion ended up in this place because he had been trying to kill himself, the possibility of death did little to bother him. It was simply the idea of ending in a world not his own that caused him to wonder. What if he just ended up in another world? What if there was no end to this? Was it possible that as a Nobody, he was doomed to cycle endlessly from world to world, never truly finding the peace death?

The concept of horror flashed through his mind, an echo of the emotion that he would have felt if only he had a heart. As things stood, however, his chest was empty. The emotion was only a thought and the though brought on only a vague sense of distaste. Death was of little concern. Staying alive long enough to find a way home would be preferable, but not something to struggle unduly for.

It was for this reason that Zexion didn't even flinch when he felt the sudden bite of sharp, cold steel pressed against his jugular, long fingers grasping his hair and jerking his head back painfully.

"I've gotta hand it to you," Demyx said from behind him, "trying to replace the most powerful man in the city. You must have a pair of big hairy ones."

The blond's voice held a hard edge that Zexion would not have expected from the docile creature he'd grown accustomed to seeing.

"Next time, do a little more homework." The blade was pulled tightly enough to draw blood. "But then again, there won't be a next time, will there?"

"And what are you planning to do when they come in tomorrow and find me dead at your hand?" Zexion asked, perfectly calm despite the fact that he'd felt the tensing of muscles as Demyx prepared for the killing stroke. He'd tuck it away for later to think on what it meant that this version of Demyx was so quick to resort to violence.

"I'll tell them that you were a fake, and they'll find the real Zexion and bring him home." Demyx said pulling harshly at the hair clenched in his fist.

"Are you so certain?" Zexion asked, and he felt the blond hesitate. Pressing the advantage, Zexion continued. "How do you know I'm not your Zexion? How do you know that I wasn't changed by my…accident?"

"Accident my ass!" Demyx hissed into his ear. "Who do you think found the Superior? No one 'accidentally' shatters a mirror and gets perfect lines sliced up their wrists. If anyone else had found him, they probably would have left him for dead!"

"In other words, your Superior was so hated that his death is something his own subordinates wouldn't hesitate to allow. This is the man with whom you are so eager to reunite? Why?"

The question seemed to catch Demyx off guard.

"He clearly mistreats you, abuses his power over this city, and yet you want him back?"

"That's right," Demyx said, and his voice was less confident that it had been moments before. "He is the Superior. _My_ Superior. He looks out for me…takes care of me. Without him, I'm nothing."

"And clearly, _with_ him you're not much more. Release me and I will tell you my story," Zexion said, coming to a decision. During his time within this Organization, it had become clear to him that he would need an ally of some kind if he planned to successfully navigate his new role as leader. So far, Demyx seemed the least likely to turn on him. He could tell well enough that his Second was not to be trusted, and the mere fact that Demyx was willing to listen seemed a positive indicator. It was a calculated risk, but one Zexion was willing to take.

There was a long moment of hesitation as the other male considered his words. At length, the fingers in his hair slowly released and the biting blade was pulled away. Demyx circled in front of him, blade still leveled at Zexion as he eyed the quiet man suspiciously.

"Alright, I'll bite," he said leaning against the table where the tea and toys were situated. He selected a second blade from the collection, a dangerous promise glinting in his eyes. "This is Wonderland. We always love to hear a good story. But it better be good because we get a little bitchy if the story sucks."

Zexion eyed the blond blandly, opening his Lexicon and flipping the pages with practiced ease. Immediately, the room began to change, features fading to darkness as the schemer immersed himself in his element.

"Two weeks ago," he began as the tall white chairs and cool blankness of his Organization's meeting hall took shape around them, "I was a member of an Organization not unlike your own."

He spent to next several minutes showing Demyx his previous existence, explaining the hierarchy of power, the differences in rank. He touched lightly on Heartless and Nobodies, explaining the existence of the Keyblade and its chosen Master.

All of it was taken in with wide, disbelieving eyes. Demyx had gone quite pale as soon as the illusions began spinning around him, taking particular distress when he was confronted with the doppelganger of himself. He didn't speak a work for the entire telling.

When he was done, Zexion calmly closed his book and looked up from his seat to meet Demyx's eyes.

"You now know who I am," he said simply. "Do with the information what you will, but understand that your Superior is no more likely here than mine is, and I imagine that killing me would only bring more trouble upon you."

Demyx simply continued staring at Zexion as if he had just proclaimed himself a jabberwocky, and Zexion stood, banishing his weapon in a final example of power, which was definitely not of that world.

"I will retire now," he said. "The choice is in your hands."

Zexion undressed and climbed into the luxurious bed wondering idly at what decision the other would come to. It wasn't long before the lights in the room were turned off one by one, and he felt the mattress dip as another body huddled onto it as far from him as possible.

Apparently, Demyx would not be murdering him in his sleep. I was a step in the right direction.

-:- -:- -:-

Zexion woke some hours later to the feel of a warm hand questing across his chest. He repressed a shiver at the gentle touch and the knowledge of who was so carefully probing him. The hand stopped to settle over his heart and he understood immediately, shifting slightly to give the other male better access.

"You really weren't shitting me were you?" the blond asked in wonder. "I wasn't dreaming, or high or anything. You really don't have a heart in there, do you?"

"No, I wasn't; no you weren't; and no, I don't" Zexion replied simply, waiting to see how Demyx would respond. The blond watched him a moment longer before a hesitant smile began twitching to life on his lips.

"Th-this could be good," he said as if unsure he could really believe what was happening. "This could be really good."

They spent the rest of the morning discussing exactly how they would go about passing Zexion off as the Zexion of that world.

"First off, you're way too nice," Demyx said, playfully flipping and catching knives to keep his hands busy. If the wrong people figure you out, it's over, for both of us, y'know? Numbers II and III, you gotta watch out for them. Even before this happened Xemnas was gunning for you and Saix does whatever Xemnas tells him to.

"We might be able to trust a couple of the others, but I don't know…I gotta make sure. Gotta think about this…"

There came a knock at the door and Xemnas stepped in without waiting for a response.

"Yes?" Zexion asked, turning from Demyx, who had visibly jumped and fumbled a blade at the intrusion.

"Superior," Xemnas began in his rich tenor. "The Queen is in transit. I've come to escort you to your meeting with her."

"Where will this meeting be held?" Zexion asked coolly. Xemnas paused a moment before answering, eyeing the other man strangely.

"It will be held in the 12th floor conference room as always, Superior."

"Fine," Zexion told him. "Meet me there. I have some things to attend to before I come."

"But, Superior, as your second in command my place is—"

"Your place, Number II, is doing as I say," Zexion said, turning from the taller man dismissively. "I will be down shortly."

Xemnas' fury was a living, breathing thing in the room. "Very well, Superior," he said in very carefully respectful tones. "I will be waiting with the rest of your entourage at your private stair well."

With that, Xemnas made his exit, leaving Zexion with a Demyx who seemed to have reverted to his previously beaten self.

"Demyx," Zexion said, rising from the edge of the bed to check on the other male. He knelt beside the crouching blond, noticing the sliced flesh on the back of one hand where the fumbled blade had cut him. "Are you alright?"

Demyx looked up at him with eyes that were lost. "This is nuts," he said, avoiding Zexion's eyes. "I don't know what I was thinking. Doing this means going up against Xemnas and half the rest of the Organization. There's no way we can pull it off. No way…"

"Demyx," Zexion tried again, hoping to rein the other in from his sudden pessimism. "Demyx, I need your help." He grabbed a napkin from the tray of untouched tea beside them and began dabbing carefully at the blood welling from the cuts, which seemed to have gone unnoticed by the blond. "Who is this Queen I will be meeting with?"

The blond paused in his rambling to look up, cobalt connecting with ocean in a moment of sudden understanding. They would be doing this together. They needed each other. Alone, perhaps, it would be impossible for either of them, but together…

"The Queen of Hearts," he murmured, taking the napkin from Zexion's hand to tend to his own wounds. "She's your primary competition in the city. You guys battle it out for turf all the time."

"What do I need to know about her?" Zexion settled back. He flipped open his Lexicon, committing information to the volume and, in doing so, his memory.

"In some ways, she's even more ruthless than you," Demyx chuckled a little. "Her group is actually called the Heartless, but they're definitely not the little buggy things you showed me last night. She sees herself as owning all of the hearts of the ones she controls. I hear when she gets really pissed-off, she'll have the heart cut right out of you. Her main muscle doesn't even flinch about it apparently."

Zexion moved to his closet, mentally recording the information in his book while he pulled out a familiar black uniform coat and another one for Demyx. He handed the clothes over as the blond continued speaking.

"The King of Hearts is actually one of ours," he said, rising to slip into the coat. "You planted him in her organization years ago and he's managed to climb the ranks to become her Second. Roxas, Number IV, is in charge of him as well as all your other assassins. I have no clue how they've managed to keep the kid in that deep for so long without getting caught."

Zexion was now steering them towards the door planning to be prompt despite his lack of preparation.

"What else should I know before this meeting?"

"Uh…" Demyx stumbled slightly as he got his footing. "You'll probably be meeting with the Queen, King and her White Rabbit. He's the Queen's personal bodyguard. No one's ever been able to beat the guy, he's inhuman or something. She'll have a bunch of other escorts with her, too.

"It'll be you and Xemnas with Lexaeus acting as your muscle. Last time you met with her things got a little ugly. Xemnas will probably handle most of the talking, so just…look like a cold-hearted bastard and you should be fine."

Zexion nodded at this, leading Demyx to the elevator within his private stair well. He pressed the button for 12 and silently prepared himself for the unknown.

The elevator doors opened smoothly, and Xemnas, Saix, Lexeaus, Roxas, Axel, and a few other faceless nobodies greeted him.

"This way, Superior," Xemnas gestured, and Zexion, reluctantly stepped away from Demyx's side. The conference room was in on of the corners of the large building that served as a base of operations for the Organization. It was just beneath Oblivion which was appropriately located on the 13th floor. Half the room was made up of large, pane-glass windows, overlooking an expanse of Wonderland. The city was murky and dark even in the morning light. The sun shining through the mist of smog gave the place a strange, rusty hue, making it seem almost like a painted backdrop.

Aside from the windows, the room was entirely black. The floors were tiled with black marble, the walls painted a light absorbing matte, and in the center of the room stood a long table made entirely of dense, black leaded glass. The table was cleaned to perfection, reflecting Zexion's impassive face back up to him. He was seated at a lone chair placed at the center of the length of one side of the table, and the rest of his entourage filed in to stand behind him, hoods raised and backs to the window. Xemnas stood, de-cowled, behind Zexion to his right, and Lexaeus to his left, the two men flanking him ominously. The sight of the silent figures was intimidating even to Zexion's eyes.

Moments later, the door opposite the side of the table where Zexion was sitting swung inward, and several figures dressed in black denim filed into the room, eyeing the hooded figures standing in front of the windows suspiciously. The black clad figures lined up in the same way that the Organization had, and Zexion noted with small interest that they each had a small Heartless emblem patched on the left breast of their sleeveless, collared coats; the same emblem from his own world.

"The Superior of Organization XIII welcomes the Queen of Hearts."

Up until that point, the proceedings had taken place in a tense silence. The tension in the air seemed only to thicken at the barely concealed sneer in Xemnas' voice as he called the Queen in.

The first to enter was a lone figure who gave the room a careful survey. He, unlike the other Heartless, was dressed entirely in white, a startling contrast against the black that filled the room. A large stylized rabbit head was etched in silver, covering the lower half of the right flank of his long coat; the Queen's personal bodyguard. Zexion was taken completely by surprise at the youth's appearance. Aquamarine eyes flashed over him quickly, silver hair fell messily over broad shoulders, and the schemer noticed that there was a small, ruby heart pinned to the thick collar of the teen's white coat.

Riku returned to the door and bowed slightly as his Queen and King swept into the room, both also wearing similar coats to Riku's. The King's was lacking in the rabbit head, and instead had a simple silver crown etched on his left breast, two hearts pinned to his collar. The Queen's was far more elaborately decorated, and covered with angry, scattered red and pink hearts, flaring gown-like at the bottom. The color's seemed to have been chosen to match the woman, no, the girl's hair color. She couldn't possibly be out of her teens yet either, and as Zexion stared in silent confusion at the blue-eyed Keyblade Master who apparently was the second in command to a ruthless killer, the girl stepped forward, slamming her hands angrily against the surface of the black glass, indigo eyes flashing.

"I'm not happy, Zexion," she stated in falsely sweet tones. "I'll let _you_ guess why."


	3. Chapter 3

**Writer: **Beckychan

Zexion looked impassively at the young queen as only someone without a heart could. He stared her down, his eyes boring into hers. Then finally, with a controlled air, he said, "You know I do not like games, Your Majesty. If you have something to say, say it."

The Queen of Hearts (how she looked like Namine, but not. Namine's Other... what was her name again? It didn't seem to matter much) glared daggers at him. The White Rabbit made a move towards him, but she stopped him with a delicate raise of her hand.

"If you do not like games, as you claim, Zexion, then why do you insist upon playing them?"

"You're going to have to stop speaking in riddles," he drawled, and he could tell by the way that Demyx flinched that this had been the wrong thing to say.

The Queen's face turned nearly as scarlet as her hair, which bristled madly in its high-swept bun, causing her indigo-blue eyes to stand out. "Riddles?" she said, through grit teeth and a mad, mad grin. "Riddles?! I am _nothing_ if not straightforward!"

"Then you are nothing," Zexion replied with the maddening cool he'd been speaking with since the beginning of the meeting. "And I _do_ hope you remember that, my dear. There is room for only one. Or," and here he smirked, the first sign of any kind of emotion so far, "perhaps I should say there is room for only thirteen."

That had been it, the final word. The King drew his weapon, and it seemed a keyblade, but made of cards and hearts and roses which were half white and half red. Xemnas met with equal anger, his Aerial Blades flashing in the harsh florescent lighting of the room. Zexion raised his hand, the signal for Xemnas to back off. The Queen seemed less inclined to restrain the King, but after a moment, did as well.

"Forgive my impudence, _majesty,_" Zexion said with a slight bow, and though it was overly polite, it was also somehow mocking. "Let us try this again, shall we? What exactly is it that I have done which has made you not happy and which is different from how I've done everything else I've done?"

This seemed to mollify her, though she was still on guard and angry. "Last night's croquet game," she said. "I know you fixed it."

Was it above this world's Zexion to fix a sporting event? Perhaps if there was money riding on it. He kept himself from pursing his lips in his consternation. "I assure you, my dear, that I haven't any idea what you're talking about."

And that, it could be said, was the complete truth.

"Yes, well, we shall see on that," she replied, not at all trying to hide _her_ consternation. "The Cat says differently."

The Cat? Zexion filed that away for future reference of things to ask Demyx about. He watched the young Queen, and a flicker – just a _flicker_ - of her eyes gave her away.

"And who are you more willing to believe?" he gambled. "Me, or someone known to be playing both sides?"

The Queen pursed her ruby lips into a pert heart shape (appropriately enough). "I trust my own eyes and ears," she replied at last, and Zexion knew he had once again guessed right. "And my eyes and ears tell me not to trust you, Number One." He could almost _hear_ that she'd said "One" and not "I," and it seemed a very odd distinction.

"When have we ever trusted one another, majesty?" he asked with a disarming smile. "It is simply a part of the dance."

This clearly didn't make her any happier, but she seemed to let the supposed croquet incident slide. "Just remember," she said, rising, "that if you're ever caught..." And she drew a line across her neck with her index finger. The King and Rabbit smirked at him as they rose as well. It was unsettling to Zexion to see such expressions on their faces - well, not Riku's, to be honest, but the other two - but he didn't let it show. Instead, he rose as well and bowed, and stayed on his feet until they had swept from the room, tails of their coats flapping dramatically.

"The Cheshire Cat," Demyx answered his question. It was the first thing he'd asked once they were alone again. "He's leader of the Church of Wonderland, but is just as corrupt as the Queen and the Organization."

This earned him a sharp look from Zexion, who had never thought of Organization XIII as corrupt, except in the most obvious sense.

"The Cheshire Cat plays both sides, as you astutely pointed out, handing out tidbits of information to whomever it will enrage the most. My personal theory is that he means to let us take each other out, then fill the void with the Church's presence."

Religion. Bah. Politics were bad enough, but throw religion into the mix and you had a recipe for disaster. Zexion sighed and closed his eyes, head leaning forward in concentration.

And then, just for a moment, the world was a rolling mass of tension caused by the fact that Demyx's hands were on his shoulders, his nimble fingers massaging away that very tension.

"Don't fret, Superior." His voice was musical, almost sing-songy, but not intentionally so. "We've held the Cat and the Queen at bay this long, we can do it longer."

"But who shall hold off the other eleven in the meantime?"

"They shall each hold each other off, for now. Don't fret," he said again, and Zexion felt soft, hot lips on his neck. He wanted to pull away, but he also realized that this had to be taking all of Demyx's courage. Clearly, he wasn't normally in a position to take the initiative, yet here he was. Here they were.

"It's not even noon," Zexion chastised softly.

"Then we have plenty of time before tea."

"I'm not sure this is wise."

"Live by your heart instead of your wisdom."

"I have no heart."

This was enough to stop the advances. Demyx practically retreated to the other side of the room, looking something like a kicked puppy that had just watched another dog get hit by a car.

Zexion wanted to apologize, but also felt he had nothing to apologize _for_. He was a stranger in a strange land which was masquerading as his home, and Demyx knew it. He knew the usurper of the much desired Number I was unsettled, and wasn't about to relax and dive into guilty pleasures of the flesh.

Zexion opened and closed his mouth several times as if he had something to say, but whatever the words were, they wouldn't come.

"I'll just be getting to... I have... There are things to be done," Demyx said, and left him alone.

Damn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Writer: Hoshiyuki**

A soft knock echoed in the living room of the luxurious apartment and Demyx's blond head peeked inside finding Roxas lacing black combat boots, two keyblades propped against the couch.

"I can come later," Demyx squeaked and started to pull his head back, but Roxas waved him inside and he complied slowly.

"I'm just about to leave, but I still have a few minutes to spare," Roxas looked at his friend and frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to talk to you about something important." Demyx felt a little sheepish as he balanced on the balls of his feet, hands behind his back.

"Well, I have to leave to meet some people in town so I can't talk for long," Roxas spoke as he pulled off his Organization coat and threw it thoughtlessly onto the couch next to his keyblades.

"Are you expecting trouble?" Demyx asked as he watched Roxas pull a white coat on top of his usual black clothes.

Roxas glanced at his keyblades and shrugged, "The times being what they are I wouldn't walk the streets without either Hollow Crest or Oathbreaker with me. I barely dare to walk the halls of Oblivion without them. Who knows when someone will get it into their heads that they can come and stab me in the back just to get my position."

The easy tone made Demyx smile a little and Roxas returned it with a grin of his own.

"Not that I would let them of course. No one knows all the connections I have in the city and they'll be afraid for the rest of their lives that the next passing shadow will be the last one they'll see," Roxas' tone was light, but it didn't hide the coat of steel beneath.

He pulled the two keyblades and tugged them into their holsters before rearranging the coat so that it hide the blades from sight.

"I really should get going," Roxas said as he glanced at the old grandfather clock which was looking forlorn in the corner of the modern room. It was shaped like a miniature clock tower. It had been his for a while so he was loath to part with, even though many visitors had suggested disposing of the fragile piece of woodwork.

"I'll try to talk to you when I get back, if the Superior isn't in the need of your _services_," the last word was full of venom. "I truly don't know why you take that shit. He might be brilliant, but he lacks a heart."

Demyx gave him an odd look before opening the door to let Roxas pass. He followed a moment later and watched the shorter blond take out a small key and locking the apartment door before stalking down the corridor without a backward glance. Appearances had to be kept.

Roxas pushed through the crowd of people who barely took any notice of him, except to mutter a curse at him for stepping on someone's toes. The lack of the cloak that deemed him a member of Organization XII kept the peasants from feeling the fear that he would have caused if he had been wearing the garment. He nearly smiled as a small hand tried to slide its way towards his money pouch, but he caught it in time causing a squeak as he glared down at the lowly street-rat.

"Keep your hands to yourself," he glowered and flashed the keyblades tucked neatly under his white coat. The man had the nerve to look ashamed as a small monkey perched on his shoulder, shaking its tiny fist at the blond. Turning around, Roxas quickened his step, wondering if the urchin had been a spy for one of the fractions trying to uproot the Organizations power. No one else had dared touch him, with his fine clothes and confident step. He had worn white, the color of the queen's guards. If he got lucky a spy might mistake him for one of the queen's people instead of the Organization's.

It didn't take him long to forget the whole incident with the would-be-mugger as he rushed towards his goal. Finally he reached the pub with a sign of a small golden crown with the words 'Golden Key' etched around it. Roxas pushed through the filthy door and into the gloom.

The pub was almost empty this time of day. Tea-time was still hours away and most of the local customers were still sleeping off the previous nights indulgements.

Roxas walked to the bar and ordered some 'white tea, hold the lemon', before walking into one of the stained booths located at the back of the pub. This was a perfect place to meet someone without being seen, badly lit and placed in awkward angles that allowed you to follow who came into the pub without being seen.

He didn't have to wait long for a dark cloaked figure to walk into the Golden Keys. The figure paused at the bar before heading towards him. Roxas adjusted the keyblades to be at easy reach as the cloaked figure reached his table.

"You wore black," Roxas said as a way of greeting.

"And you wore white," the stranger replied as he pushed the deep hood down revealing a mess of brown, spiky hair and deep blue eyes.  
"One has to be careful during these dangerous times," Roxas quoted with a smirk and gestured for his guest to sit down.

"How are things in the castle?" he asked after a few seconds of tense silence.

"In shambles. The queen is furious with the way things turned out today. She feels like she lost an important battle. I nearly didn't have the chance to get away," the king sighed and shook his head loosing the usual sparkle in his eyes.

"Things aren't going well in Oblivion either. I think there's something wrong with number One, Sora," Roxas admitted in a small whisper over the table.

Sora's blue eyes focused back onto the Assassin Master with a worried look.

"You think he suspects anything? About the Cat?" he asked with a deep frown that deepened the unnatural lines of worry on his brow.

"No, no one knows yet. Nothing important anyways," was the short reply.

"It's quite amusing. The whole situation," Sora said a smile breaking across his features. "A hunter of turncoats turns into a turncoat himself."

"I'm no turncoat," Roxas replied coldly. "I just don't like this informal game of chess between two adversaries that know nothing of what their actions do to others." He paused for a second before continuing. "Tell me something about the queen, enough to please the Superior. Any schemes she's planning?"

"Well, there is this one. Funny you would mention chess…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Writer: beckychan**

"Check mate."

"You win again, Excellency." A slender forefinger flicked the king, knocking it over and showing defeat. "It only took you eight moves this time."

The Cheshire Cat sighed, his brilliant green eyes flashing through his purple cat-face domino mask. "Why do I get the impression you weren't even trying?"

"Oh, no, Excellency!" his opponent said. "I know how much you hate that. I'm afraid I'm not very good at chess."

"And yet _you_ challenged _me_ to the game," The Cat drawled.

"Yes, your Excellency."

The Cat rolled his eyes and rose, long silver braid swaying. "Hare, that is almost as bad as losing on purpose. While I appreciate the gesture for what it was, I do not approve of your vain attempt to boost my already high esteem."

"Yes, your Excellency," the young woman known as Hare said, bowing her head.

"Where are Hatter and Dormouse?" The Cat asked.

"Dormouse is in the chapel garden, tending to her flowers. I believe Hatter went into town. She said she had some errands to run."

"Not thieving again, I hope," The Cat's eyes narrowed a little, but a quirk of his famous grin pulled at his lips. Hare giggled a little behind her hand.

"She might be."

"And the Tweedles?"

"They are on guard duty today."

"Very good, Hare. You may go train now. I know it's what you want to be doing, rather than indulging me at chess."

Hare bowed low, her long brown hair spreading over her back like a cloak. "Thank you, Excellency." She turned to leave, then stopped. "Excellency, Dodo informs us that the Queen of Hearts took the information you gave her to Oblivion today."

And there it was. A grin so wide, so mad, that it was said opponents who saw it ran screaming from the room.

For all the world, Hatter would not be recognized as one of The Cat's lackies if you did not already know she was, simply because of her physical personality. No one that bouncy, that exuberant would be expected to be employed as one of The Cat's personal guards. No one would expect a thief to be one of The Cat's right hands. No one but a cynic, at least.

Hatter slowed her skipping, jumping gait at the Golden Key. She looked over her shoulders each way before opening the door and slipping inside. When her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, she saw two figures in the farthest booth, both hunched over cups of tea, watching her as she approached.

"IV, King," she said, nodding to them.

"Hatter," Roxas said, and Sora bobbed his own head in reply.

"May I join you?"

"Of course!" Sora said, and made room for her.

"What news, Yuffie?" Roxas asked, his voice low, as she signaled the bartender for her usual.

"Nothing new yet," she sighed. "I'm sorry about the meeting today. Things are just getting worse, aren't they?"

Roxas and Sora sighed in response as the barman brought Yuffie her drink. She sipped at it carefully.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Roxas replied, looking glum. "What _are_ we going to do?"

"Well," Sora cut in, "I was just telling Roxas about the Queen and chess..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Writer: israelproject**

Evening fell quickly over the city of Wonderland, sweeping across the buildings like a pack of horses had been chained to darkness' hem and dragged it galloping through the streets. Zexion stood at the broad window of his eyrie, hands folded loosely behind his back, and watched the metropolis lights twinkle to life. The illumination within the apartment was bright, reflecting against the glass, making him tilt his head and narrow his eyes to pierce the glare. There was an element of comfort in darkness, he found, that couldn't quite be taken from any other source. Habits had been formed, and were hard to break. How tiresome that he couldn't just form a portal here and now and rid himself of this illogical twist in reality. He was sick of it, thoroughly _sick _of being in charge. Demyx insisted he keep up appearances, had become in a short space of time his true second-in-command, and though he continued to act like a beaten dog at its master's feet in front of others, in private he was becoming bolder with Zexion, more confident. It had been nearly three weeks since he'd been beaten black and blue by the man wearing Zexion's face, and the lack was beginning to show in a slight brightening in the blond's demeanour when they were alone in the false Superior's quarters. Because, this was of course how he viewed himself. He might have been growing wearily accustomed to being the one deferred to, but that didn't mean he considered himself Number I now any more than he had at the beginning. That, he suspected, would take years of ingraining, and, quite frankly, he wasn't prepared to waste that long whiling away the hours as the head of a group of petty, spiteful, greedy death-merchants. At least _his _Organisation had _purpose. _They had formed out of a mutual desire to recapture that which had been lost, and was craved – these thugs were little more than large children with disgusting tempers and the wealth to get away with it.

He was feeling distinctly unimpressed on this particular night, standing in his apartment with Demyx rushing back and forth in the background. On the one night that he had a headache, and wanted to do little more than settle down with a book, he was required to once more step into the shoes of his predecessor, perform the role he was growing increasingly impatient with as the days progressed. Then again, all he _ever _really wanted to do was settle down with a book, and in this world, where the intoxicating tea leaves were simply everywhere one turned, a headache always seemed to be hovering behind the bridge of his nose, ready to take hold and send him into an existence of tormented migraine. It was times like this that he loathed his extraordinary olfaction – there was no escape.

It was when Demyx attempted to comb his hair for him that Zexion snapped. His head swivelled sharply, a cold bite to his tone as he said, "I am not a _child, _Demyx, there is no need for this." The blond sighed shortly, with exasperation, stepping back.

"If you would do it yourself, I wouldn't be reduced to this, Zexy!" As the lavender-haired man raised an eyebrow, the man stuttered, then amended, "I mean, Superior."

Zexion rolled his eyes, turned away from the window, took the silver brush from Demyx. "My hair is fine," he said, walking over to place it on the vanity counter, the large heart-shaped mirror reminding him of what was to come, irritation surging anew. "I'm not good at parties, you know," he commented, for the sixth time since discovering the night's activities. His cool gaze met with Demyx's in the reflection, the blond shrugging helplessly.

"You might not be, but the Superior is. If you want to keep this up believably, you just have to put up with it."

"Yes. _If," _Zexion echoed dryly. "And what _if _I'd rather not? Why continue this charade at all?"

Panic flashed through Demyx's gaze. "You're not thinking of telling anyone, are you?" he demanded fearfully. Zexion lifted one shoulder carelessly, twisting from the mirror, moving over to the bed.

"Who would believe me if I did?" he murmured. Demyx's expression hardened as he followed.

"Xemnas," he said firmly, with certainty. "He's already giving you funny looks – you want to give him an excuse to bump you off?" When Zexion didn't respond, he grabbed his elbow, frustrated, spun him around and demanded angrily, "You really think he'll hesitate to kill you? The only reason he didn't _years _ago is because _our _Superior is a ruthless bastard with spies spying on _spies! _Xemnas would be dead before he had a chance to dance on your grave." He pinned Zexion's gaze, tried to make the softly-spoken man understand. "But if he figures out there's something weird going on – _really _weird – he'll find a way to get around all that. He'll get proof, he'll _manufacture _proof, and you're not the same person that would put a bullet through his brain for even taking a wrong step!" He shook his head slowly. "He'd kill us, Zex. Both of us."

At this, the man's gaze sharpened, he focused on the blond. For a long, silent moment, they stared at each other, before Zexion dropped his eyes, frowning, tugged gently out of Demyx's grasp. "Fine," he said quietly. "I won't mess things up. Not until we have some sort of escape planned, at least." He met the blond's gaze briefly. "Just keep informing me, and I'll do what I have to do."

There was relief on Demyx's face as he nodded, a small smile in place as he picked up the long, black coat from the bed, fully unzipped, ready for the Superior's lithe body to enter. He helped Zexion into it, the man quickly zipping it without assistance. "So, tell me what I need to know about tonight."

Demyx sucked on his bottom lip, brow furrowing in worried thought, struggling to remember absolutely everything, afraid to leave anything out. "Well, like I told you earlier, we're going to the Queen's personal club tonight, kind of like her own version of _Oblivion. _It's well and truly in her territory – we'll have to watch out for the Princesses of Heart."

Zexion snorted. "Those little girls?" he muttered. Demyx blinked at him blankly.

"Little – do you even know what they are?"

Zexion sighed. "I know what _my _version of them is, but I'm sure you'll do your best to shatter all the knowledge and replace it." He waved a hand impatiently. "Who are they, then?"

The blond shrugged. "Well, that's the thing – no one knows. Their identities are kept completely secret. Nobody in the Queen's court knows _anything _about them. The only ones that have a clue are the Queen herself, and her King and White Rabbit." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, almost frightened, whisper: "I don't even think the _Cat _knows," he confided with wide eyes, obviously expecting Zexion to be impressed.

"So, I'm to fear a group of women about whom nothing is known?" he inquired sardonically. Demyx's brows dropped.

"They're _assassins, _Zexion," he said in a low, gruff voice. "They are the Queen's personal elite militia. They're the ones that perform her dirty deeds, make sure she's always the only one at the top of the pile. They are her blades that slip through the ribs of the city."

"How poetic," the lavender-haired man sniffed, adjusting his long sleeves. "Am I to assume that my spy-ridden spies are also in place to take care of things if I were to turn up dead at _their_ hands?" Demyx smiled a little.

"Everyone's kept in check, one way or another," he confirmed. Zexion snorted.

"Wonderful. Politics." He shook his head faintly. "The Princesses of Heart, deadly assassins?" He sighed, smoothing down his coat. "Fine, then. I'll watch for them. I believe I'll be able to recognise them – after all, everyone else looks like their counterparts." He mumbled off for a while on the subject of alternate universes and mirror images, while Demyx just stared.

"You mean that?" he interrupted, after a few beats. Zexion blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You could – actually point the Princesses out?"

The man shrugged. "I see no reason why not." Demyx lowered his head.

"What – the Superior wouldn't have given… to be able to hold that above her head…" He sucked in a breath, eyes widening. "He could obliterate the Queen. Take over the city. The Cat would be – child's play without the Queen to set against you – it would only be a matter of time before he ended up dead in a ditch somewhere…" The blood drained from his face, slowly, eyes looking darker as he lifted them to a curiously frowning Zexion. Demyx's lips felt suddenly dry, his throat itching. He swallowed thickly. "Zexion? Don't – don't ever tell. Don't tell anyone. Don't – even tell me." He covered his eyes with one hand, shook his head quickly and stepped back as Zexion tried to touch his shoulder. "Especially me. Never tell me who they are. I don't – " He shivered hard, just once. "I don't want things to turn out that way. It would be… Hell." He gave a shaky, high laugh, regressing sharply to a shade of the man he had been when Zexion had first arrived, that tight fear wound in his eyes. "He'd find a way to make me tell. And then…"

"Demyx," cut in Zexion softly, solemnly, "I wouldn't interfere like that. It isn't my place to act – or to speak."  
The blond hesitated, nodded. "One more thing, and – this is important… I don't know how we're going to get around it – "

There was a knock, as usual, Xemnas' voice muffled as he called through, "Superior, are you prepared for the outing?" He opened it a moment later, a smile in place. Demyx looked briefly panicked, eyes pleading with Zexion, but the time for talking seemed to have passed. He would have to play it by ear from here.

Zexion scowled. He really, really didn't like parties.

--

_Heart Palace. _It was, to be succinct, a strip-club, filled with women and men alike, born dancers with perfect bodies. It was actually an interesting sort of place, to Zexion's mind – none of the filth he would have presumed of such a setting, none of the sleaze. It seemed that the Queen took pride in her home base – it was a high-class establishment, just as _Oblivion _was, with its own undercurrent of cold cruelty throbbing beneath the bass and skin of its performers and patrons alike.

They were met by Naminé. The shock sent a frisson through Zexion's body, muscles stiffening momentarily as his visible eye widened. She was older than he remembered, but not by too many years. She would be the same as the Queen, no doubt. He itched for his Lexicon, wishing he could take it to an unoccupied corner table and feverishly account the presence of yet another Nobody existing independent of its Somebody – seeing Roxas and Sora in the same room, even with one of them robed and obscured in the Organisation garb, had been its own mild surprise, quickly documented. To add Naminé to the picture was just as intriguing.

She gathered the sides of her long dress, similar to the Queen's except for being all white, and curtsied neatly to the Organisation. "Superior, the White Rose welcomes you on behalf of the Queen of Hearts." She straightened, smiled sweetly. "Please, follow me to the chess-room. You are the last to arrive." She turned, made her way elegantly across the room, all parting way for her and the Organisation in her wake. They entered a door at the back of the club, ascended a set of stairs, Naminé's every step sure and calm. The second floor of the establishment was, it seemed, utterly dedicated to the chess-board. The door at the top of the flight was opened, and Zexion found himself entering an indoor garden, the likes of which even Marluxia would have trouble mimicking. Before them lay a beautifully manicured lawn, broad, its only mar the checkerboard of white squares disturbing the green. When Zexion had heard of the chess game the Queen was holding, which the Organisation was so graciously invited to witness, he hadn't had this sort of thing in mind, but he was undoubtedly viewing the board. It was empty for the moment, but would soon enough be filled, he suspected. He wondered, warily, what to expect from this venture.

Naminé led them along a narrow walkway, up a set of obsidian steps to a lifted stage upon which the 'party' was taking place, a long table covered in a messy assortment of piping-hot teapots and dainty cups, pots of jam and mustard, sugar strewn all over the place in-between the chaos. If he had been a more brazen man, Zexion would have wrinkled his nose at the squalor of it all. But, sensible as ever, he kept his opinions to himself, made his stately way to the large chair Naminé was offering, at the left of the Queen, who lounged lazily in a red throne which dwarfed all other seats at the table, legs crossed, the King perched on the arm, feeding her strawberries. The White Rabbit stood to her right, silent as ever, aqua eyes watchful.

As her eyes fell upon him, the Queen smirked, hard face so unlike Naminé's in that moment that he wondered if they were related in any way on this world, despite the way the White Rose promptly folded herself delicately at the woman's feet, some form of handmaiden by the looks of things, the Rabbit shuffling back slightly to give her extra space. "Well, Superior," the red-headed queen said imperiously, lips stained by strawberry juice, "it is a grand thing that you finally honour us with your company."

Zexion inclined his head. "Forgive our lateness, your Highness, but, for all our name suggests, there are times when the Organisation takes time to gather." It had been, Xemnas had informed him, entirely Larxene's fault, the wild woman having smashed up a portion of _Oblivion's _bar upon discovering that her tea of choice had run out. Zexion's headache had compounded from that moment onward.

The Queen waved a hand dismissively. "I am in no mood for excuses this evening, Zexion. Do take a seat, all of you. It is unseemly to have you all hovering like so many Grim Reapers, especially at a tea party." Sora smirked. Zexion repressed his irritation at her superiority, Demyx having warned him to be on his best behaviour on this outing, and sat upon the chair Naminé had indicated.

"And am I to be ignored?" a deep voice interjected, causing the man to glance up beneath the cowl of his hood. He froze momentarily, startled by the white-haired figure immediately across the table, surprised at himself for not having taken notice sooner.

"Sephiroth," he murmured. The man's green eyes widened momentarily, a wry smile twisting his lips.

"Why, Superior, it has been some time since I was addressed so familiarly… especially by one of your high standing…" He mockingly touched long fingers to his chest, the bare skin in the deep neck of his bizarrely pink-and-purple striped silk shirt. "I'm touched."

"Cat," Zexion corrected himself, a chill entering his tone. Sephiroth rolled his eyes, sighed.

"Ah, you give with one hand and take with the other, don't you – _Zexion?"_

The Queen listened with amusement. "Now, now, children, no fighting at the table. I do believe the game is about to begin."

"I have informed this evening's Pieces of the Organisation's arrival," Naminé confirmed by her knees. "They will be out shortly, your Highness."

A deeply tanned arm reached in front of Zexion, placing a cup and saucer within reach. He glanced up at the server and paused, pondered at the fact that he was looking at one of the infamous Princesses of Heart – Jasmine smiled at him, bowed her head with a sweetly uttered, "Superior." She withdrew, and he was glad for the warning Demyx had given. It wouldn't do for him to seem to recognise her. He ignored her, while keeping track of her scent in amongst the others, though it was difficult. He realised, with a sinking sensation, that he would not be able to get away with not drinking tonight. Demyx was far down the table – he was surrounded by enemy faces. If he'd had a heart, it would have pounded slightly more energetically.

"Ah, here they come," the Cat announced, the three of them with the clearest view of the chess-board. The Pieces, as Zexion suspected, were human. "Who do have we tonight?" Sephiroth wondered, eyes skipping over the black-clad Pieces as they emerged onto the lawn. "I see you have some servants playing tonight, Highness. And – is that my Hare, I see, as Knight?" He chuckled. "Perhaps she is trying to improve her game." He smirked, as the white Pieces began their stately march from a hidden door within the garden. "I do adore the symbolism of this, Highness, black versus white…" He tapped his lips, pretending to think. "Now, where have I seen that before?"

"My dear Cheshire Cat," the Queen drawled, "your wit is too much."

Zexion remained quiet, gauging their observances, all the while studying the human chess pieces striding into position on the board. The Queen, apparently on top form tonight, noticed his scrutiny of the board and smiled with a dangerous glint.

"Are you wondering which will be the one to fall to your hand tonight, Superior?"

Caught off guard, Zexion asked, "I beg your pardon?" She merely smiled. A moment later, the Cat stiffened. His knuckles turned white on the arm of his chair, his entire body jerking forward just slightly. There was a brief silence, in which Zexion wondered what the matter was, and the Queen grinned toothily, before Sephiroth leapt up with a roar. His voice echoed throughout the garden. _"What is the meaning of this?" _He was glaring down at the chessboard, as a blond with spiky hair emerged, dressed in the livery of a Chess King, holding a sceptre. "Cloud! Get off the board!" Sephiroth bellowed, furiously. The Queen sat forward sharply, eyes glittering.

"You know the penalty for forfeit, Cat," she said quickly. He whirled on her, eyes like slits.

"What is the meaning of this?" he repeated, a hiss this time. She shrugged innocently.

"Was I to know you were familiar with one of my Kings? He has been training so very hard, I thought you, of all people, would want to see his game. He is so _talented, _after all."

"But – if he _loses…" _Both of them turned to Zexion, the Cat's features blank, the Queen triumphant. Zexion wasn't sure what she was up to, but whatever it was, it was working out just as she'd wanted, it would seem. He didn't know how to respond to their twin gazes, until Xemnas so very helpfully, probably enjoying this despite his solemn expression, placed a pistol on the table in front of Zexion. "One bullet, Superior," he said, almost as if reminding the lavender-haired man. "One bullet for the losing King, just as you always have commanded."


	7. Chapter 7

**Writer: finem**

Zexion stared down at the cold steel, placed so casually before him. It was only with the highest level of self-control that he managed to keep his face from betraying the level of not-quite disgust and could-have-been horror spawned by the weapon. His gaze immediately flew to Demyx who was watching him with wide frightened eyes. One look told him that it would be in very bad form for him to respond poorly to the situation, and there really was no other way to get around it at the moment.

"Of Course," Zexion said, face ever impassive. Inside however, his mind was buzzing. He was a scientist, damnit! He studied, he probed, he thought and hypothesized. Nowhere on his resume was 'cold-blooded murder,' and he had no intention of adding it...but he also had no clue how he would get around this without raising suspicion. For the time being, it looked like he would be able to think while the game progressed.

The Cheshire Cat glared acid at him, the Queen preening as she turner her attention back to the game board. During the short discussion, the rest of the pieces had placed themselves in position. Zexion looked out, studying them. Based on what he had learned so far about this world, he imagined nothing but violence once the game began.

Sephiroth's Cloud took his place as the White King. Across the board in the corresponding black position stood a figure that Zexion did not recognize. He was tall and broad with deep-set dramatic eyes. His honey-brown hair was pulled back in a low tail. There was a certain contained savagery in his posture; something beastly that the faux Superior could not quite put his finger on. He noted with no small interest that the man's queen was yet another Princess of Heart. Belle, the delicate beauty from the world Xaldin had been assigned to. She was completely dwarfed in comparison to the Black King, but the Queen was meant to be one of the most powerful players on the board. Looks could be deceiving. Zexion, more than anyone, knew this.

The Queen of Hearts gave a slight nod and Naminé stood before the gathered observers. She raised a small golden gong and mallet, striking once to call the attention of everyone in the area. Turing her back to the tea party, she addressed the players on the board.

"Presenting: Cloud Strife and his Court for the suit of White," she called out, the acoustics of the garden serving to amplify her voice. "White King, are your forces prepared for battle?"

The tall blond, in his gleaming white armor, lifted a helm to his head, stabbing his scepter into the grass to his right in response. Zexion took this to be an affirmative.

"Presenting: Prince Adam and his court for the suit of Black," Naminé proceeded, turning to face the opposing side of the board. "Black King, are your forces prepared for battle?"

The large man followed the same process as the White King, placing his black helm on his head and stabbing his scepter into the ground beside him. Zexion wondered at the significance of the scepters as he could plainly see other weapons strapped onto each of the kings, but he didn't have much time to think on this.

Naminé stepped back to her queen, kneeling once again at her side. The young, self-styled monarch rose from her throne, sending a viciously triumphant smile at the Cat before bellowing,

"_Let the game begin!_"

-:- -:- -:-

Demyx was a mess. The game was going as the Queen's chess games always did, pieces battling each other for positions as their Kings directed them at every turn. Chess games were a means of determining ranking for the Queen's Heartless. The pawns were usually kids off the street hoping to get somewhere by proving themselves in the game, and the higher pieces were usually stronger fighters, hoping to win money, glory, and a position as one of the Queen's favorites.

Unlike in normal chess games, when a position on the board was under dispute, instead of the moving color automatically capturing their opponent, the two had to do battle. The fights varied depending on how violent the combatants were, but generally speaking, it didn't take long for the chess-board to become stained in blood.

It was none of this, however, that had Demyx anxiously fiddling with his hands under the table. In fact, he was barely paying attention to the game at all. His focus was on Zexion and the frozen mask on the other man's face. Demyx couldn't tell what was going on in that calculating head of his, and it was driving the blond insane!

If Zexion didn't kill the losing king, there would be no way that Xemnas wouldn't start figuring things out. But, from what Demyx had learned of the other man over the past several days, murder was not something that Zexion would do lightly; definitely not over something like a chess game. The only way they could get out of this was if…one of the sides forfeit…

No one ever forfeit. It meant instant death to all captured pieces from the forfeiting side at the hand of their King and the remaining survivors would become the Queen's property. That basically meant being reduced to less that human status in the queen's court. Public humiliation, regular abuse, being turned over to some of the Queen's less savory servants and having them do what they pleased…that was the price of forfeit. It never happened. Even if a King were willing to sacrifice the lives of his captured players in order to save his own, he would never accept the humiliation of becoming one of the Queen's dogs.

Forfeit was never an option.

Demyx turned his attention back to the chess-board. Most of the pawns were out of the game by now, only the strongest managing to maintain their positions on the board. He could remember, years back, watching a scrawny spiky haired kid shock everyone by surviving as a pawn, making it all the way across the board to be promoted to a second queen. That was Sora's first step in gaining the Queen's favor, but it didn't look like anything like that would be happening this time. All of the pieces were scattered, and even to Demyx's untrained eye, things didn't look good for the White side.

Demyx shot another nervous glance at Zexion, wondering again what the other man was thinking. The sound of cheering echoed through the garden as several of the other XIII shouted drunkenly for whatever side they'd bet on and other onlookers on lower levels encouraged their team as well. If the tension in The Cat's face was any indicator, Demyx's guess had been right. If would be the White King who fell this night.

The Black King raised an arm in preparation to issue his next order when:

"White forfeits."

Silence fell instantly over the room, the very air seeming to be banished by the ice in the voice of the Cheshire Cat. Demyx blinked stupidly and saw that many others around the table were doing the same.

"I'm sorry, Excellency," the Queen sneered gleefully, "but unless I am mistaken, you are not the White King. Only a King can forfeit his men."

The cat rose to his feet, snarling, usual cool composure completely lost.

"_He_ belongs to _me!_" he snapped. "My words are his words and if I say White forfeits, then that is what shall be!"

"Sephiroth…" the blond king called out in warning tones.

"Silence, Cloud. You will do as I say."

"You agree, then, to the terms of forfeit?" for all their namings, it was the Queen who looked more like a cat at that moment, and it seemed that she'd had her fill of cream and mice all in one go.

"Yes." The word was barely intelligible through The Cat's clenched teeth.

Demyx watched in fascinated horror as the Queen gestured, and the King rose pulling a silver, pearl-handled pistol from somewhere inside his coat. He walked over to Sephiroth and handed the gun over with a smug grin.

The green-eyed Cat took the weapon, rising and sweeping his silver braid over his shoulder. He stepped down onto the board and walked down to Cloud who by now was pale and shaking in impotent rage. Demyx was at the right angle to read the taller man's lips as he handed off the gun.

"Let anyone else touch you and I'll kill you myself."

The Cheshire Cat turned to leave the field, and, as if that act somehow broke the spell woven by the drama that had unfolded, voices raised in panic as the six captured pawns from the white side realized what was about to happen. Demyx's heart went out to them. He remembered a time when he had been like that; captured and marked to be turned away from the Queen's service. His King had not broken the rule, though.

Kings never forfeit.

Demyx turned from the chaos that erupted on the board as the White pieces tried to escape but were stopped by the Queen's guards. He looked instead to Zexion, noting the subtle hardening around the other man's cobalt eyes as he watched the violence unfold.

Six shots sounded, loud and cacophonous, in the echoing expanse of the Queen's garden.


End file.
